


The Great Buffalo Wing Contest

by Harvinder



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belching, Belly Kink, Bloating, Burp Kink, F/M, Gas - Freeform, Stuffing, burp fetish, burping - Freeform, gassy - Freeform, men burping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harvinder/pseuds/Harvinder
Summary: This is what I imagine being in a relationship with a hot burping competitive eater man to be like.





	The Great Buffalo Wing Contest

I have always had a burping fetish. Weird, right? Oh well. I don't know where it came from, but burping is the absolute biggest turn on ever to me. Whenever an attractive guy burped around me, I would blush and feel warm inside. In high school, I was a tomboy and hanged out with mostly guys... who used to burp all the time, including competitively and in my face. It was heaven, but I was too embarrassed to talk about it with anyone. Plus, I was pretty shy and passive then, so I never had a single boyfriend in high school even though I'm pretty hot if I do say so myself. 

After I graduated, I got an amazing job at Chanel. I inherited a very, very nice condo with a ocean view from my dear deceased great aunt Miriam. Life is on the up and up. I'm currently with my amazing boyfriend of two years, Lane. He's the sous chef at one of the hottest restaurants in the city, if not the entire country. He's gorgeous, standing at 6'4" with golden hair, blue eyes, and the classic chin. He has a slight gut from his competitive eating, but he is nowhere near fat. In fact, his body is in tip-top shape from all the gymming he does.

Lane is one of the best competitive eaters on the west coast. Last year, he absolutely killed the Nathan's hot dog eating contest, one of the biggest competitive eating events in the country, taking away 25 grand. He's currently training for the biggest contest of them all: the National Buffalo Wing championship, which will be held on March 21st in Huntington Beach. The prize money is 50 grand.

We're now only three weeks out from one of the biggest eating competitions in the nation, so Lane is training furiously. Every day, he brings home around 20 leftover shepherd's pies and other assorted meat pastries from work. He trains by eating the twenty or so pastries within an hour, washing them down with cola or beer. He also douses the food with Tabasco to simulate eating hot wings. By eating so much every day, he's expanding his stomach capacity. After a practice sesh, his stomach becomes very bloated. This is a funny sight since the rest of him is so muscular and fit looking. I didn't come to the most amazing part yet. He lets rip these amazing belches of such outstanding length, tone, and pitch that I want to jump his bones right then and there. We usually have lusty, passionate sex every night, but only after he has burped most of the gas away.

The way Lane shoveled food into his maw and gulped down carbonated liquid was mesmerizing. It was ASMR to me. Every evening, I would sit there, watching him do his thing. Every so often, he would let belches fly out of him to make more space for food in his tummy. I often wondered what our neighbors thought - they were that loud. 

One night, after a practice sesh:

Lane sat on the couch with his hand over his tummy. We were watching Weeds together. "Hey Alana, did you check the Vanguard account? Apparently it - " he paused and let out a rank, wonderful belch right in my face. It was five seconds of pure bliss. I saw the look of horror in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to turn away, but my eye contact held him there. "- almost doubled over the past week..." He looked sort of shocked, as this was the first time he had ever belched in my face. "I'm sorry Ally, I'm just a really gassy person, especially after practice. When it comes, I really just can't hold back. Such is the life of a champion eater, eh?" he grinned sheepishly. I smiled back. "Don't worry, Laney. I would love you even if you could only communicate through burping and farting," He chuckled. "Man, I must have been Mother Teresa or Buddha in a past life to deserve a girl like you," I looked up at him and laughed lightly, touching his full tummy. He doesn't understand.

Later that night, we watched some more episodes of shows I liked. Lane would be caressing his stomach, rubbing his hand on it in circles, letting out periodic closed-mouth belches into his fist. Unfortunately, they were all muffled and directed away from me, but they were very deep and had erm... good acoustics. He also let out a few farts, which he tried to pretend never happened. Later that night, we had very, uh, fervid sex. Nights like this one were a dime a dozen in the grueling training days before Lane's competition.

March 21st came very quickly, and we got into the car to make the hour long drive down to the big pier in Huntington Beach. Lane was pretty nervous but still remained confident. I kept reminding him of his past victories to help him keep his eyes on the prize and steel his nerves. We arrived at the pier and moved through the throngs of eager spectators to the stage, where the contestants were milling around, talking and looking nervous. There were many cameramen with their cinderblock cameras from the likes of Fox, ESPN, and the Major League Eating network waiting to capture the super bowl of wing eating.

There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. A light ocean breeze came off the vast sapphire-blue ocean, making the palms that dotted the beach sway. "You'll kill this, Laney. I just know you will. You've trained for months. Your stomach is fucking titanium, babe. You'll kill this." Lane gave me a bear hug. "I know, I know. I'll be thinking of you when I can't distinguish my fingers from chicken wings and my blood hot sauce content reaches 0.08." I chuckled. "Good luck, hun. No pressure." Lane went to join the other contestants, who were beginning to take their seats at the long table. Lane was very noticeable because he towered over most of them and because he was so handsome. There were around 25 contestants, people of all shapes, sizes, and colors looking to be crowned the national chicken wing king or queen. I recognized a few familiar faces from Lane's previous games. I also saw a YouTube mukbanger I used to watch, a buff Korean man.

The announcer stepped up to the mic. "Welcome to the 20th annual National Buffalo Wing Festival, sponsored by Tyson. Whoever consumes the most hot buffalo wings within 20 minutes will be crowned the wing king or queen. The wing king or queen will receive $50,000 and an all-expenses paid trip to Helsinki for the world series major league eating games this October. The previous world record was held by Joey Chestnut, who put away 150 wings in 21 minutes." He paused. "Should one of the fearless challengers we have before us best this record, he or she shall get his or her name and photo in this year's edition of the Guinness Book of World Records, in addition to the prize money and the trip. Are you ready for some wing action?! " The crowd gave an almighty cheer as cheerleaders began bringing out buckets of hot and fresh hot wings.

I could see Lane clearly among the other contestants, with his height and his full head of golden hair that shone in the sun. I couldn't make out the expression on his face as the first bucket of 20 wings was placed before him. The countdown to the start was ticking, and the crowd was cheering wildly in anticipation.

A large gong sounded and the contestants began chowing down on their wings as the crowd cheered frantically. Jugs of beer were brought out to quench the contestants' thirst. Just a minute in, I could see people wiping sweat off their brows. The first contestant to give up was a pierced and tattooed black hulk who looked like a cross between Shaq and Lebron. He ran off the stage like a girl, clutching his stomach. "First one down! First one down!" the announcer yelled. Lane was up there, putting the wings away like a champ. He was very, very fast, but he was steady as well. He would pause at times to wipe the sweat from his brow or to make room in his stomach by belching raucously.

Lane had already downed four buckets.... at least 80 wings. It was barely 8 minutes in... He was already more than halfway to Chestnut's record. By this time, half of the contestants had given up. One guy had puked, causing the people sitting next to him to follow suit. This took out 5 contestants. Lane and the other pro eaters just kept their cool, putting the chicken wings without as much as a glance up. The true pros had some sort of zen when it comes to eating, when their minds just tune out everything except for the piles and piles of food in front of them.

As the cheerleaders took away the buckets, they would check inside to make sure the wings were cleanly eaten. Early on, one naughty guy was disqualified because he left too much meat on the bones. Many contestants couldn't take the heat and got out of the kitchen as fast as they could. Lane just kept his cool in the usual badass way.

The cheerleaders worked frantically to bring the wings and beer to the contestants. Hot wings flew out of buckets like red bullets... fowl balls. Lane's mouth and shirt were drenched in hot sauce. His pearly whites were totally orange-red. He looked at once savage and collected, removing the flesh from a wing faster than you could say... bone-on. He was in the zone. Everything outside himself and the plate of wings in front of him was nonexistent to him. All of the remaining contestants seemed to be in the same place wings-wise.

100 wings... 120 wings... Soon, only four contestants remained, who downed the chicken wings with an intensity that was very intimidating to behold. 4 minutes left. Matt Stonie, the famous YouTuber, was in the lead, with Lane hot on his heels. Slightly behind these two were Yuka Kinoshita, a pretty Japanese girl, and Josh Weedon, a burly man I recognized from YouTube. My passionate cheers could barely be heard above the crowd, whose sound was nearly deafening at this point. 140 wings... 

Josh Weedon gave an almighty belch before throwing up into his bucket. He took the walk of shame off the stage, as furious cheers mixed with disappointed groans exploded forth from the crowd. Poor Josh... you'll have your day someday, but not today, sucker! 1 minute left... 8 buckets for the three remaining contestants... 160 wings each! Matt, Lane, and Yuka had all smashed Chestnut's record! It was unclear at this point as to who was in the lead. The crowd's furious cheering couldn't drown out the countdown gong that began to sound. 10 seconds... Matt, Lane, and Yuka were like characters in an anime eating scene, complete with pinwheeling arms. The crowd began to provide the final countdown. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... The gong sounded with a resounding boom. The crowd became silent. It was unclear as to who was the wing king... or queen in Yuka's case.

"Hmmm.. the suspense is killing me!" the announcer laughed fruitily as two cheerleaders rolled out a fancy chicken wing bone counting machine. My palms grew sweaty. Lane looked nervously on as two cheerleaders began to dump Yuka's bones into the machine. The cheerleaders then measured Matt's and finally Lane's wings. They deliberated with the announcer for what seemed like an eternity...

"Looks like we have a new wing king!" the announcer boomed. The crowd quieted a bit. "In first place, with 171 wings in 20 minutes, we have... Lane Hansen of El Segundo! Come on up and get your crown! Stellar job, Lane! Truly amazing!" The crowd's cheers were absolutely deafening. I was nearly screaming myself hoarse. Lane had an infectious ear to ear grin as he walked up to the podium to receive his crown, robe, and gold medal. His hand was on his distended tummy. "In second place, with 169 wings in 20 minutes... we have Yuka Kinoshita of Hiroshima, Japan! Sugoi-desu! Come on up!" Yuka sprang up (quite the feat after putting away 169 wings) to receive her silver medal. The crowd cheered. Matt Stonie looked disappointed but unperturbed. "In third place, we have Matt Stonie of San Jose! Come on up!" Matt went to go get his bronze medal.

The three contestants stood on the stage with the announcer, with Lane standing in the middle, between Matt and Yuka. At 6'4", Lane was much taller than the announcer and Matt. He made Yuka Kinoshita look like like a cute doll in comparison. "Lane, my boy, any words from the newly crowned king?" The announcer handed him the mic. He took the mic and... let out a very hot belch right onto it. I sort of knew it was going to happen, but it was quite the lovely surprise anyway. It was a bassy five-second full-throated roar with wet notes, a 10 if there ever was one. The crowd exploded into cheers. I heard a few cries of "attractive!" and "have my children please, Lane!" Please.

"Is this thing on?" Lane said, tapping the microphone jokingly. The crowd laughed. "I'm sorry about the ear ra... torture. I've been waiting to get that one out for a looong time. Anyway, I just wanted to say muchos thankos to my awesome girlfriend Alana Davitian for putting up with my training sessions and just being the amazing person that you are, oh and I also want to give a shout out to my mom and dad... if you're watching - urrrp - this, hi mom!" The crowd laughed once more. "also, I can't forget about our host Darius here, and last but not least - hic - McIlhenny for making Tabasco, without which I wouldn't have been able to take the heat today. I can't wait to head out to Helsinki to partake in the world series. It's gonna be so dope! Also, don't forget to check out my YouTube, Instagram, and Twitch. I'll be livestreaming part of my journey to the world series, so check it out!" A beautiful cheerleader handed Lane a giant check for $50,000. He made a silly chicken pose for his photo in the Guinness book.

Afterwards, Matt Stonie went to sign autographs for his rabid, screaming fans. As Matt was being carried off by his screaming fans (must have been agony with such a full stomach), Yuka Kinoshita went to talk with the Japanese eating league representatives. Apparently, her silver medal in today's race had captured the attention of a Japanese businesswoman who wanted to sponsor Yuka at the Pan-Asian Eating Olympics later this year. For a while, I stood with Lane while he signed autographs for his fans, who totally mobbed him. Many girls showed signs of wanting to become groupies, but I told them to buzz right off. This man is mine. I kept thinking about what we were going to do with 50 grand... and the ad revenue from YouTube after Lane's videos go big... 

After we were done with the autographs, we hurried back to my car. Time to drive back home after a long but amazing day. After putting away a year's supply of chicken wings, downing a cauldron's worth of beer, and dealing with screaming fans, Lane was pooped and didn't feel like talking much. He reclined his seat back and massaged his full to bursting tummy. He kept letting out these closed-mouth belches, giving a short, contented grunt every time. They were very deep and ripe. He puffed his cheeks and blew the chicken wing fumes away from me. Lane, being the gentleman that he is, cracked a window. I shut it since we were on the freeway and because I liked the smell... don't kill me. 

We finally arrived home. Lane was becoming gassier and gassier. Apparently, the chicken wings and beer were finally starting to react negatively. I imagined a 7th grade science fair volcano in his stomach. Lane threw off his event t-shirt and pants, stripping down to his navy blue boxers with a pink whale pattern. They were the kind that outlined his weapon nicely. Monstrous belches were flying from his lips without any effort whatsoever, just flying right out of him. He excused himself to use the john. I, being the twisted little girl I am, went to the door to listen in... Man, gas was flying out of both ends like Aeolus had possessed him! I think there were two times when man gas was coming out of both ends at the same time. When the sounds of rushing water came on, I rushed back to the living room. 

Lane came back and settled in the couch next to me. I wanted to talk about a more intense training regimen for the world series game and also about posting a few more YouTube videos, but Lane didn't seem to be in the mood. Lane decided to start playing NHL 18 on the PS4. I decided to go make him a cup of honey chamomile tea to help his tummy, which was gurgling and growling like there was a demon trapped inside. He rubbed his neck and made a motion like he wanted to adjust his (non-existent) collar. I could see his Adam's apple bob a bit. He let out a series of weak burp-hiccups... burpicups, hicurps? I could see his Adam's apple moving; he was trying to force something out. And then it started. It was low and growly at first. It crescendoed slowly and steadily to a thunderous roar that rushed out of him in an uninterrupted stream. His mouth curled into an expression of pure and utter bliss. It seemed like there were at least 10 seconds of uninterrupted man roar. Man, it was like he was being exorcised. The climax and plateau petered out into a series of smaller wet burps. I stared, transfixed.

"Yeah!" Lane gave a proud cheer. "Man, that felt good. Oh, I'm sorry... forgot my manners. Excuse me, haha. Anyway, I've definitely done better, but that was one of my finest moments, that's for sure." He laughed heartily. He seemed back to his usual talkative self, the lethargy having departed. "Anyway, let's talk about getting a new camcorder for YouTube. I want to film my world series training sessions. I ..." 

I gave him the best porn star sexy time look I could muster and tugged on his arm. Lane had a very perceptive second brain that reacted instantly to my... charms. I led him to the bedroom (like leading a sleepwalking man) and threw him down on our California king. Then, we had the best sex of my life. Actually, I'm lying, but it was defo in the top 10 in my life so far. Afterwards, we fell into a deep sleep and didn't wake up until 2 PM today. It was a good day, and I'm sure that there will be many more like it.


End file.
